The grand digital clock suspended above the Great Hall of Nevermore Palace flickered with a cold, rhythmic glow. 4:37 PM.
The King Selection registration was a ticking time bomb. In less than thirty minutes, the gates of opportunity would slam shut for the day's event, and the hierarchy for the festival would be etched in stone. That reality acted like a vacuum, sucking the oxygen out of the room until the air felt thin and brittle. This wasn't a tournament that spanned weeks; it was a gauntlet that would be won or lost before the sun rose the next morning.
XH leaned against a fluted marble pillar, his eyes tracking the chaos of the final hour. He noticed the subtle shifts in the room's physics—the way people began to move in jagged lines, the frantic tapping of glowing phone screens, and the way every head eventually turned toward the registration desk with a mix of hunger and dread. The volunteers were a blur of rustling paper and forced smiles, while the security staff whispered into their earpieces like soldiers bracing for a breach. The polished floors, buffed to a mirror finish, reflected the overhead chandeliers with a blinding intensity that made XH's head ache.
Beside him, JP was a coil of suppressed energy. His arms were locked tight across his chest, his shoulders squared as if he were waiting for a blow. His jaw was set so hard that a small muscle in his temple pulsed rhythmically.
"I can't stand that guy," JP said. His voice was a low growl, barely audible over the hum of the crowd.
XH didn't move his head. "Who?"
"Take a look. Ten o'clock. By the refreshments."
XH shifted his gaze. There, standing near the towering ice sculptures, was KM. He was the center of a loud, boisterous circle of engineering students. KM was dressed in a suit that cost more than a semester's tuition—tailored too perfectly, styled too aggressively for a campus event. He moved with a practiced, loose-limbed confidence, punctuating his sentences with a barking laugh that made XH's skin crawl. Even when his face was at rest, he wore a permanent, phantom smirk, the kind that suggested he knew a joke at your expense.
TZ joined them, leaning in to follow JP's line of sight. "What's he done now? Aside from existing too loudly?"
JP's nostrils flared as he exhaled. "He's been busy. Spreading filth."
"Rumors?" NS asked, joining the circle. He was the calmest of the group, his face a mask of cool indifference, but his eyes were sharp.
"Worse," JP said. He hesitated for a second, his hand hovering over his pocket.
"JP," XH said, his voice warning. "If it's out there, we need to see it. We can't walk into the Selection blind."
JP pulled out his phone, his thumb hovering over the screen. "You haven't seen it because you guys don't lurk in the gutters. It's not on the public socials. It's on The Vault."
The mention of the private forum made the temperature in their small circle drop. The Vault was where the school's elite and its bottom-feeders met to exchange the kind of gossip that ruined lives—stuff too toxic for moderated platforms.
"Show us," NS commanded.
JP tapped the screen twice and turned it around.
The layout was familiar—a dark mode interface with neon-green accents. Anonymous threads, mostly. But this post wasn't anonymous. The user had verified their identity to gain "High-Tier" clout for the day's event.
User: KM_Official. There was his face. The same smug expression he was currently wearing across the room. Below it, the text was a jagged blade:
"NS is a closet case. Wing Gaming is a circus of tiny egos and even smaller dicks. The whole Health Track is just a bunch of girls pretending to be men. Looking forward to watching them crawl during tonight's brackets."
The engagement numbers were climbing. 142 Likes. 38 Reposts.
XH's eyes tracked down to the comments. His heart sank as he saw the handles of the biggest guilds on campus. HTN. Thoon. SRM. They weren't just reading it; they were cheering. They were the ones they would have to face in the arena within the hour.
"That's... that's pathetic," TZ said, though his voice lacked its usual bite. He sounded stunned. "It's clearly bait."
JP let out a short, jagged laugh. "No shit it's bait. But look at the room, TZ. Look at how people are looking at NS now. They've all seen it. The brackets haven't even started, and we're already being mocked."
NS stared at the screen for a long time. He didn't flinch. He didn't swear. But the way his fingers curled into his palms told a different story.
"Why didn't you bring this up an hour ago?" XH asked, looking at JP.
JP shrugged, though his eyes were burning. "Because the 'noble' thing to do is to ignore it, right? We're not supposed to care what a trust-fund peacock thinks. But I realized... I'm not that noble."
"Neither am I," NS said softly.
XH looked back at KM. The guy was currently clinking glasses with an engineering professor, his head thrown back in a display of performative joy. He had no idea the fuse had been lit.
"We shouldn't give him the satisfaction of a public scene," XH reasoned, his mind working through the tactical fallout. "He wants us to swing at him. He wants us disqualified before the first round even begins."
JP slipped the phone back into his pocket. A strange, cold calm had settled over him. "I know. That's why I didn't say a word on the forum. I didn't give him the engagement he wanted."
TZ narrowed his eyes. "Then what's the move? We just swallow it and play the matches?"
JP leaned in, his voice dropping to a whisper that felt like dry ice. "I've already handled it."
XH felt a jolt of genuine alarm. "JP, tell me you didn't do something in front of the cameras. The Selection starts in minutes."
"Relax," JP said, raising his hands in a mock gesture of surrender. "No fists. No drama. No witnesses. I just... did a little independent maintenance before the registration surge."
"Define 'handled,'" NS pressured.
JP's smile didn't reach his eyes. "Follow me. We have ten minutes before the opening ceremony starts."
The back exit of Nevermore Palace led to a private parking sanctuary. The air here was vastly different from the scented, recycled oxygen of the ballroom. It smelled of damp asphalt, expensive gasoline, and the sharp chill of the evening.
Rows of luxury vehicles were lined up like polished trophies under the soft amber glow of the security lights. These weren't just cars; they were statements of intent.
JP moved with a terrifying efficiency. He didn't look left or right; he walked straight toward the VIP section, his boots clicking against the stone.
"There," JP said.
It was a black sports car. It sat there, arrogant even in park, its matte finish sucking in the light of the streetlamps. KM's pride and joy.
JP reached into the inner lining of his heavy festival jacket and pulled out a pressurized can.
TZ sucked in a sharp breath. "Is that... permanent spray paint? JP, you brought that here?"
"Festival prep," JP replied casually.
"Security?" NS asked, scanning the perimeter.
"Shift change was five minutes ago. The perimeter cameras have a blind spot near the pillar because the Ivy Guild complained about their cars being 'watched too closely.' I've had this timed since the morning."
XH stared at the car. This was the point of no return. If they were caught, they wouldn't just be out of the King Selection; they'd be out of the school. It was stupid. It was irreversible.
And yet, as XH thought about the words on that screen—the casual cruelty, the way KM had dismissed their entire lives for a few digital 'likes'—he found that his feet wouldn't move to pull JP away. The anger was a cold weight in his chest, making him complicit.
JP didn't spray a giant, messy scrawl. That would be too easy to cover. Instead, he worked with the precision of a surgeon. He kept the nozzle close to the paint, his hand steady.
Small Penis Dragon.
The letters were small, neat, and tucked right above the side skirt. It was subtle enough that someone might not notice it at a glance, but once seen, it could never be unseen. It was a permanent brand of ridicule.
JP capped the can with a satisfying clack. He stood up and took a breath of the cold air, looking like a man who had just finished a masterpiece.
"There," JP said. "Balance restored."
"He's going to lose his mind when he leaves tonight," TZ said, a nervous, high-pitched giggle escaping his lips.
"Let him," NS said, his voice hard. "He likes being the center of attention. Now he has a slogan to go with the brand."
"We need to move," XH said, the adrenaline finally hitting his bloodstream. "The brackets are about to be announced."
They didn't run. Running attracted eyes. They walked back toward the palace with the steady, measured pace of people who had done nothing wrong.
By the time they re-entered the Great Hall, the atmosphere had reached its fever pitch. The MC was on the stage, the digital clock showing 4:59 PM.
"Registration is now... CLOSED!"
The room erupted in applause. The names were locked. The AI was currently crunching the data to announce the first matches of the evening.
KM passed them in the lobby moments later. He was flanked by his usual sycophants, still looking at his phone, probably checking the stats on his latest post. He caught XH's eye and offered a wink—a gesture of supreme, unearned victory.
JP didn't even look at him. XH did. Just once. He watched the back of KM's head, knowing that outside, a small, permanent message was waiting for him.
"Let's go to the terrace," XH said. "We have five minutes before the first call."
They gathered in a dark corner of the palace terrace, overlooking the city lights. The music from the hall was a muffled heartbeat behind them, the bass vibrating through the stone.
JP pulled a silver flask from his pocket.
"I thought you were staying sharp for the matches," NS remarked.
"This isn't for a buzz," JP said, unscrewing the cap. "This is a confirmation."
He took a long, slow pull and handed it to TZ. The sharp smell of rye whiskey cut through the cold air.
TZ took a sip, winced, and coughed. "God, that's terrible. Tastes like regret."
"Shut up," JP said softly.
NS took the flask next. He drank with a solemnity that made the moment feel heavy. He passed it to HS, who had remained the silent witness to the entire ordeal.
"I don't have words for this," HS said, his voice low. "So I'll just drink."
Finally, it came to XH. The metal was cold against his palm. He looked at his friends. They were a mess of contradictions—angry, loyal, impulsive, and brilliant.
"Listen," XH said, the weight of the coming hours pressing down on him. "Everything changes after this. The Selection is starting. KM and his people... they aren't going to just let that car go. They'll come for us. Not just him, but the system that protects people like him."
He looked JP in the eye.
"We don't know what's coming in these brackets. We might lose. We might get crushed by the top seeds." XH took a sip of the whiskey, the burn welcome in his throat. "But whatever happens tonight, we do not turn on each other."
"Even when we mess up," JP added, nodding.
"Especially then," TZ chimed in.
NS put a hand on XH's shoulder. "We stick. No matter what the world says. No matter what they post."
They stood there for a long time in the silence. It wasn't the silence of fear; it was the silence of a foundation being laid.
Years later, a photo would circulate—a grainy, candid shot taken by a passing student during the festival. It showed five boys standing in the shadows of Nevermore Palace, looking out at a world they were about to set on fire.
In that future, they would be icons. They would be enemies. They would be legends.
But tonight? Tonight, they were just five friends who had decided that silence was no longer an option.
As they turned to head back into the light of the festival, the speakers boomed with the first announcement of the King Selection brackets.
"This moment," JP said, his voice low and steady. "This is ours."
They walked back inside. The festival waited.
And so did the consequences.